I found myself relapsing last night. Again.

Sadness came about and held my throat with both hands,

and when I stopped sputtering and gasping for sweet air,

self-hatred was registered in my heart

and crimson red freckled across my upper thighs

The next day you ask me a question

"It's a simple one," you reassure. 

"That requires a simple answer."

The smile,

   the embarrassed laugh,

     the twinkling of the eyes,

       --the words--

         I was taught to recite died on their way through my throat and

formed tumors in my lungs

You're looking at me now.

Your cocked head, the rays of shame, the pregnant pause...

are making the tumors grow grow grow

and collapsing the scaffolds in my soul

"I do not know," I whisper. 

"I do not know what the question asks."

But I do.

I know the reason Mona Lisa smiled,

why Gatsby loved Daisy the way he did,

what foolish men were lured by the Sirens,

how much my mother loved me when she let me go while I rode a bike

I know you asked me what I love about myself,

but I have no knowledge of such

I can tell you that everything has beauty.

Everything has a place, a right to be loved by hearts

But some things can possess beauty,

but do not possess the warmth of others' touch,

and it's simply impossible to do all the loving on my own.

Alas, day turns to night

and these dark times are when my sanity slips between my fingers

In these dark times the monsters beneath my bed

stir and repeatedly whimper to be fed

broken dreams and wonders

In these moonless hours do I shiver when I hear the rattle of the skeletons in my closet, 

and hug myself to keep from feeling too alone

But night turns to day

yet my dark circles still linger

crimson red still dots my thighs.

The tumors are growing

my vocabulary still is robbed

as I left your question

bereft of my answer